After a long and toilsome march, weary of the way, [the wanderer] drops into the nearest place of rest to become the most domestic of men ...

But soon the passive fit has passed away; again a paroxysm of ennui coming on by slow degrees, Viator loses appetite, he walks about his room all night, he yawns at conversations, and a book acts upon him as a narcotic.

The man wants to wander, and he must do so, or he shall die.Sir Richard Burton, Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El-Medinah and Meccah, 1855